


His Cup Runneth Over

by wendymr



Series: A Different Kind of Love [3]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:10:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Now, his home is again </i>their<i> home.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	His Cup Runneth Over

**Author's Note:**

> With grateful thanks to Lindenharp and UniquePOV for BRing.

“That’s the last.” James puts the box he’s carrying down on the floor just inside the open doorway, then straightens and looks around the large open-plan living and eating area. The kitchen’s through a wide archway, and both rooms are full of boxes. Boxes with the contents from both their old flats, minus what they’d each weeded out and given to charity. “Going to take us ages to unpack all these.”

Robbie pats him on the back. “As long as we can find the kettle an’ that, I don’t care. The rest can wait.”

James leans into him. “There are a few other things I would like to find reasonably quickly – but you’re right. It doesn’t have to be done all at once.”

Robbie’s hand slides up to his shoulder and squeezes. “All in good time. We can get takeaway this evening, or go down the pub, if you like. All we really need to unpack tonight is the bedding.”

James is right; it will take a while to get the flat sorted. It’s twice the size of James’s old flat, and more than half again the size of Robbie’s previous place. Plenty of room in the kitchen for the two of them to cook together – James has been surprisingly successful at teaching him – and in the bigger bedroom for both of their clothes. And the bathroom’s large enough for them to get ready at the same time without continually crashing into each other.

Their furniture’s already in its proper place: two couches now, looking a bit incongruous given their different colours and sizes, though James has had the good idea that they should look for throws for each in the colour of the other. One orthopaedic bed in the main bedroom, with James’s old bed in the other. 

Soon, books, CDs and DVDs will mingle on the wall unit together, James’s theology and philosophy tomes sharing space with Robbie’s wartime novels and travel books once they’re unpacked. His suits and James’s will hang in the wardrobe side by side, and even if he’s the only one with family photos to display he’ll make sure that there are plenty of James’s personal touches around the place as well. His guitar, of course, and artwork from his old flat – even if it’s really not to Robbie’s particular taste.

It’s been a long time since his home has contained bits of someone else’s life as well as his own, and he’s missed it with an aching sense of loss, which spiked with every additional part of his and Val’s shared life that’s had to be discarded – through age, through over-use, through breakage. Now, his home is again _their_ home.

“Hey, when did these come?” 

James is looking beyond Robbie into the kitchen, where there’s a large bouquet of flowers – hand-tied in water, which is probably just as well given Robbie would have no idea where to find a vase – on the table.

“Oh, right. Just as I got here after that last trip. You were still on your way.”

James walks over and picks up the card. It’s from Lyn, and reads simply _To Dad and James – welcome to your new home. Love, Lyn, Tim and Jack._

Lyn’s very happy for them, which is one weight off Robbie’s mind. He told her a week or so after he’d suggested to James that they live together, rather ham-handedly leading up to it by reminding her of her teasing comment a while back that the two of them should just shack up together. She instantly jumped to the conclusion that there was more to the relationship, and he tried to explain, only to find himself getting tied up in knots. Because, yes, they’re best mates – but they also love each other. They don’t, and won’t, have sex – but they cuddle, and they even sleep together. Neither of them is looking for anyone else, and Robbie has even been quietly researching civil partnership regulations and the government’s proposals for same-sex marriage, because to him that’s what they really are to each other, and he wants James to have the rights of an official partner should anything happen to him – and vice versa. An official partnership would also give James survivor benefits on Robbie’s pension, which he hopes will allow James the freedom to do whatever he wants with his life later on. He’s spent too much time forcing himself into positions of fulfilling other people’s expectations for him.

Lyn understands now, he thinks – it helped that, when he brought James up to Manchester with him a few weeks later, James sat down with Lyn and explained about asexuality and what it’s meant for him: what he wants and doesn’t want from a relationship. And Lyn told Robbie later that she doesn’t care, wouldn’t care, exactly what their relationship is. What matters is that James makes him happy, and keeps him healthy. 

Robbie assured her that’s certainly the case, but that what matters most to him is that he can make James happy too.

Now, there’s wonder in James’s eyes as he gazes at Lyn’s card, and the hint of a smile that seems to suggest that he still can’t quite believe this is happening to him. 

Robbie reaches out to loop his arm around James’s shoulders in a brief hug. “Come on, soft lad. I’m takin’ you to the Trout for dinner.”

James turns to him, mischief in his eyes as he presses a hand to his chest and pretends a maidenly swoon. “You romantic thing, you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t get carried away and imagine I’ll carry you over the threshold when we get home.”

________________________________________

When they get back a couple of hours later, Robbie’s first priority is to find the kettle and other essentials for making tea. James disappears while he’s busy with that, and when Robbie goes to find him to tell him tea’s ready he finds James making the bed. James seems to have found his second wind, because he’s also unpacked a few other bedroom essentials – and a photo of Robbie and Val, which he’s placed on the bedside cabinet on Robbie’s side of the bed.

It’s never occurred to Robbie before, but he’s never seen any photos of people important to James. Not on his desk at work, or in his flat. 

He resolves to kill two birds with one stone, and as quickly as possible: find at least one photo of the two of them together, or get someone to take one, and get it framed and in pride of place somewhere in the flat. James is his partner now, and he deserves to have that relationship recognised just as much as Robbie’s relationship with Val still is.

“Come an’ get your tea before it’s cold, love,” he says, the endearment slipping out before he’s realised it. He’s never called James that before – but it feels right, doesn’t it?

James turns to look at him, then comes closer, standing in front of Robbie. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“What for?”

“This.” James gestures around. “Us. Everything you’ve given me.”

Robbie shakes his head. “Give over, you daft bugger. Look how much you’ve given me!” 

James looks about to protest – does the idiot bloke really think this is one-sided? Of course he can’t; Robbie’s told him how much James has done for him over the years, the support he’s provided implicitly and explicitly since they met. The way James has filled the gaping hole in his life all this time, and especially since they became partners.

But then, James had told him, before all this started, that he never expected to have a life partner, someone to come home to, to share his life. And of course the lad’s always tended to be a glass half-empty type when it comes to himself. He’d probably been waiting – more than likely still waiting – for Robbie to get tired of him, or find some reason to end their relationship. Probably couldn’t let himself believe they’d actually move in together, despite it being Robbie who suggested it.

“Oh, c’mere.” He reaches out and pulls James into a hug. 

James hugs back with evident warmth and appreciation. Unlike the first time Robbie hugged him, when he was awkward and – Robbie suspects – afraid of showing how much he wanted it, these days he’s completely comfortable with initiating and responding to physical affection. For someone who can appear to be so aloof most of the time, he’s proven to be quite a snuggler, both on the sofa and in bed.

They’re separating after a few moments when James dips his head and leans towards Robbie again, only to pull back immediately and turn away. “Um, I think you mentioned something about tea?” He brushes past Robbie and out of the bedroom.

Robbie follows, trying to figure out James’s reaction. Flustered? A bit. Embarrassed? Ah, that’s it. But why? What was he up to, anyway? 

If it was anyone else, Robbie’d assume – No, not if it was anyone else. Of course that’s what James intended.

He takes the mug James passes him in the kitchen and leans against the island, studying James as the younger man stares down into his own mug in apparent fascination. Yes, James had been intending to kiss him. But why? Yes, there’s a lot of physical closeness in their relationship, but they don’t do that. James doesn’t do that.

Or does he? A conversation from more than six months ago now, the evening they talked for the second time about asexuality, comes back to him. What was it James said?

He thinks he’s got it right – or as close to right as he’s going to get it.

_“Telling someone that you like her – or him – and that you might even quite fancy kissing them and might want a long-term relationship that could mean living together, but you’re never going to want to shag them, just doesn’t seem to go down all that well.”_

Right. So James does like kissing, apparently. Odd that he’s not said anything since – or is it? After all, hasn’t he just discovered that James still seems to think he’s mostly doing him an enormous favour by all this? Bloody idiot, of course, and Robbie will make sure he realises that.

So James likes kissing. And so does Robbie. But kissing a bloke? It’s not something he’s ever done, or imagined doing.

What’s the big deal, though? He already sleeps with the man, cuddles him in bed and often wakes up with his limbs tangled together with James’s – and likes it. They touch and hug all the time. There’s nothing sexual about any of it; it’s all affectionate but platonic. Romantic, definitely – James might have been joking earlier, but there’s no doubt that that’s part of their relationship.

Clearly, for James kissing is no different – and why should it be? Kisses can be loving and affectionate just as often as they’re passionate, and he certainly shouldn’t need reminding of that. 

“Oi, you,” he says softly. James startles slightly but looks in his direction. “Put that down and come over here.”

There’s surprise in the lad’s eyes, but he doesn’t hesitate. He sets his mug down on the counter and takes the three or four steps that bring him to Robbie.

“Should know by now, bonny lad, that if you want something from me you only have to ask for it.”

James’s brows draw together. “I’m not sure...”

“C’mere. Too bloody tall, you are,” Robbie grumbles affectionately as he reaches for James, tugging the bloke’s head down so he can lean in and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

James goes very still for a moment, but then relaxes. He settles his hands at Robbie’s waist, and kisses back, lingering and affectionate.

And it really isn’t any stranger, or outside his comfort zone, than anything else in their relationship – nor does it make him any more inclined to consider James as a sexual partner. That’s not how they are, and of course it’s not what James would ever want or be comfortable with.

He ends the kiss, ruffles James’s hair – which is a little longer again and thus capable of being ruffled – and picks up his tea again, giving his partner a calm, amused smile. “There. Wasn’t hard, was it?”

James’s eyes are wide, and he’s looking for all the world as if a single breath of wind could knock him over. But then he smiles as well, a slight upward curve of his lips which, together with the way he’s looking at Robbie, says far more than any words.

“Come on.” Robbie gestures back towards the living room. “Let’s take the weight off our feet for a bit before bed.”

________________________________________

_Have I Got News For You_ is on the TV, but Robbie’s looking at James, who’s curled into his side, one hand resting over his thighs, and Robbie’s arm is around James’s shoulders. He knows his expression’s probably stupidly fond, so he’s not at all surprised when, after a while, James looks at him with an amused twitch of his lips.

“What is it?”

Robbie shrugs faintly. “Nothin’, really. Just not sure I’ve ever seen you look this happy.”

James pauses for a moment, then raises his head and nods. “That’s because I haven’t been. Though that’s been changing over the last few months.”

He tightens his arm around James. “I’m glad.”

“Me, too.” James leans in and presses a kiss to Robbie’s forehead. “Thank you.”

“Ah, give over, or you’ll have me feelin’ I have to thank you too, an’ I’m not gonna have us sit here thanking each other for the next half-hour.”

James smiles crookedly and lets his head fall onto Robbie’s shoulder again. They sit in silence for a while, occasionally laughing at a snide comment from Ian Hislop or a one-liner from Paul Merton.

As the closing titles play, James sits up again and looks at Robbie. “What about you? Are you happy?”

Robbie pauses for a moment, giving the question proper consideration, then nods slowly. “You know what? I’ve spent so long bein’ unhappy, ever since Val – I think I just got used to living with that, an’ I never stopped to notice things changing. I am happy. Never actually thought I would be again, but I am, an’ that really is thanks to you.”

James looks pleased, but when he speaks it’s with one of his trademark smartarse grins. “Thought you said you didn’t want us sitting here thanking each other?”

“Didn’t say you could quote my words back at me either, cleverclogs.”

The smile remains on James’s face. “Ah, but you wouldn’t love me any other way.”

Robbie raises an eyebrow. “Just you try correctin’ my grammar in front of some bloody Oxford nob again an’ you’ll find out, bonny lad.”

“I am quaking in my boots, sir,” James quips, and glances downwards.

Robbie follows his gaze and looks down at James’s feet – snugly ensconced in lavender socks.


End file.
